


Secret Smile

by mogwai_do



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14102466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: If a picture is worth a thousand words, what's the reality worth?  Inspired by Semisonic's 'Secret Smile'.





	Secret Smile

It was raining outside; clear, fat drops splattered themselves against the windows in the strong gusts of wind before trickling slowly down the glass. The early morning sun was low enough on the horizon still to be unhindered by the dark clouds overhead and the golden light flung itself heedlessly at those same windows, shattering into a hundred thousand colours where it struck the water-dappled surface.

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod groaned and pulled the blankets up over his head. After a moment though an exploratory hand crept out from beneath the quilted shield, withdrawing quickly when the temperature of the loft was ascertained as _cold_. Duncan muttered a curse under his breath, the boiler must have gone out overnight. With a sigh he pushed the bedding back and got up, his feet flinching at the feel of the cold floor. He only hoped if the boiler was broken he could have it fixed before Methos got back or he'd never hear the end of it.

Of course with two of them in the loft, staying warm wasn't so much of a problem. Duncan felt his lips stretch into a smile at the thought as he headed to the bathroom. It was snowing in Paris if the forecasts were to be believed and Methos was going to need a lot of warming up when he got back.

When he got back... Duncan shook his head and stepped under the hot spray. Methos had gone back to Paris on Watcher business for the week. Technically he'd left after the Shapiro mess, but Methos wasn't the sort to burn his bridges if he could help it and he had stayed on their good side, playing consultant now and again when they needed translations of the older Chronicles.

Duncan grinned; he and Methos had been lovers for months, had actually been living together for weeks now and still the Watchers hadn't clued in. Between them, Adam Pierson and Joe Dawson as well as a few key co-conspirators within the Watchers, old friends of Adam, the Watchers were not only ignorant of Adam's 'little secret', but of the existence of Duncan MacLeod's new lover. As revenge for all the inconvenience they'd caused him it was petty, but it made Duncan feel so much better about the whole thing. Obviously it paid to be a sneaky, manipulative bastard sometimes.

He chuckled as he stepped from the shower, thinking fond thoughts of his absent lover. Methos had called late last night; he planned to be back in Seacouver late afternoon, having finished with the Chronicle more quickly than expected. With that in mind, Duncan chose his clothes with care as he mentally planned all the things he had to do before his ancient lover returned.

*****

It was 3 o'clock and the shopping was done, the boiler was fixed and the loft positively gleamed in the aftermath of his cleaning spree. Duncan dropped down onto the couch heavily and glanced at the clock; he'd run out of things to do now and all that was left was to wait. He hated waiting.

Restless, he got up and made himself a coffee to carry back to the couch. He could read to pass the time, but he knew his attention span was pitiful right now. On the other hand if he just sat there he'd inevitably start to brood and he really didn't want Methos to come back to a moody lover.

He paced the loft a couple of times while the coffee brewed and put some music on, it wasn't opera so it must have been one of Methos' many cd's in the machine. Duncan didn't bother to change it, just collected his coffee and headed back to the couch. He sat there for a few moments more listening to the music before he became restless again. Duncan contemplated getting up to find a different cd, but instead his eyes fell to the small wooden chest sitting on the shelf below the cd player. A slow smile spread across his face and he got up and retrieved the plain box, returning to the couch and placing it carefully on the coffee table.

Duncan ran his fingers over the smooth wood, then slowly opened the lid, drawing out the moment longer than necessary. It wasn't the chest, he could find another like it in any decent shop, it was the contents. Nestled carefully inside the box was a plain book, Duncan took it out and weighed it gently in his hands, his last birthday present from Methos, the first since they had become lovers. He stroked his fingers across the cover and smiled at the memory; Methos had been so unsure about giving it, as if he couldn't believe it could be something Duncan would value. But whatever instincts had prompted him to give it in the first place they had been dead on; Duncan had demonstrated just how much he had appreciated Methos' gift later that night.

Methos was a cautious creature, and knowing how many hunters were out there Duncan couldn't blame him; he left as little trace of himself as he could manage wherever he went, whatever life he lived. The exceptions he made were few and far between, a tiny store of tangible memories, proof of an existence few still believed in. Duncan opened the book and smiled at the first picture - Adam Pierson, trainee Watcher, and his mentor Don Salzer. It had been taken only a year after the 'young' student had been recruited to the cause and sent to work on the Methos Project. Methos looked every inch the role he had played for years; a poor grad-student who had stumbled upon a real purpose for his interest in long dead languages. It had been taken one fine morning in March on the occasion of Adam Pierson finally moving full time to Paris; Don had insisted on having a picture of his new assistant, playing on the jokes made about the absent-mindedness of researchers. According to Joe, Don had been inordinately proud of his protégé, looking on him as the son he had never had. Sometimes Duncan wondered if the Watcher hadn't known or suspected the truth about Adam, but it was something he would never know for sure. Don Salzer had left no clues, no journals, no last words; he had carried Methos' secret to his grave whether he knew it or not.

The picture had belonged to Don until the day he died when Methos had reclaimed it, the possession speaking more clearly of the affection the ancient Immortal had held for his mentor than anything else.

Duncan turned the page and smiled, then skipped through a few more pages, looking for one of his favourites. There, taken by Alexa Bond at a small bed and breakfast near the Grand Canyon. Adam Pierson again, sprawled unwarily across a large couch, fast asleep after a long drive, with what appeared to be a whole family of kittens nesting on and around him, obviously deciding that the lanky form was an excellent source of warmth.

The 5,000 year old looked ridiculously young and innocent, the kittens only heightening the illusion and adding that perfect touch of Hallmark cuteness. Methos had winced when Duncan had told him so and threatened to take the gift away, Duncan had wrestled him for the book and that impromptu match had turned into other more enjoyable pursuits. Afterwards they had looked through the book together, following Adam and Alexa's progress on their tour.

Duncan browsed through the book, knowing he was only delaying the inevitable, and sure enough he found himself staring once again at his favourite picture.

Joe had taken this one not so very long ago, one night at the Bar, and Duncan could never look at it without marking it as a turning point in his life.

He and Methos had been sitting at a table near the back of the Bar some few months after the fiasco with O'Rourke and Duncan's return to Seacouver, drinking in an almost companionable silence and listening to the music. Prior to that night Duncan had been struggling with hopelessness and depression. He had never really recovered from Richie's death and O'Rourke's ill-timed arrival and underhanded tactics had been the last straw.

He wasn't really sure what had been so different about that evening, but it was always going to hold a special place in his memories, up there with Tessa and Little Deer. As had been their habit since O'Rourke, Methos and Joe had taken it upon themselves to bully him out of his home, his fortress of solitude as Methos had taken to calling it. He'd never told them, but he had been glad of their determination, who knew what he might have done if left to his own dark broodings for too long.

The evening had been a quiet one; Joe had been playing a set while Methos kept Duncan company at a table. They'd never spoken much on those evenings, the Highlander not really feeling he had anything to say anymore. This had been no different, but the warmth of his friend's care had been all the companionship he had needed and almost despite himself Duncan had found himself being drawn into the music for the first time in what felt like years.

"See, not so difficult now is it?" Methos had teased gently when the tune that had so captivated the Highlander had come to an end. Duncan had turned to the eldest with a slightly abashed smile and Methos had smiled back. _That_ smile and Duncan had felt it somewhere deep inside him, like the single shaft of sunlight that heralds the breaking up of the clouds. And Duncan had known, right then and there what that smile had meant. That night, for the first time in a long time, he hadn't gone home alone. And for the first time in too long he had allowed himself to grieve for all he had lost, safe and secure within a pair of arms that he knew, with a certainty beyond truth, would never let him go.

Duncan traced his fingers lightly over the figures in the photograph, Joe had taken it a few minutes later as proof positive that the Highlander could indeed still smile. Methos' own smile was no longer openly worn, but Duncan could still see it lurking in the almost-gold eyes that regarded the Watcher with mock annoyance.

The Highlander sighed, carefully replaced the book and then returned the chest to its place on the shelf. There were a few more photographs and they all showed different aspects of the eldest Immortal, but none of them had ever captured that smile. It was as elusive as the man himself and for some reason that made Duncan glad, because it meant that smile was his alone. Everyone who knew the old man had seen the smirk, most of them had also seen the sly smile that boasted so many secrets and they might even have seen the bright, cheerful grin that made the 5,000 year old look so ridiculously young. But every so often Duncan would catch his lover's eye and Methos would smile and it wouldn't be any of those; it would be open and gentle and a little shy and Duncan would feel his heart melt.

Duncan wandered over to the cabinet and pulled his camera out, he wondered if it would be possible to capture that rare gift on film, wondered if Methos would allow it, wondered as he had sometimes done before, if the ancient even knew he did it. But then Methos hated his picture being taken, for all he allowed it now and again, and Duncan respected that caution. Still...

A rush of familiar Presence washed through him and Duncan turned quickly toward the door, camera still in hand. Moments later Methos came bounding through the door with a grin, dumping his duffel bag unceremoniously on the floor and tossing his coat vaguely in the direction of a chair as he advanced, still grinning, on his lover. Halfway there he paused, eyes narrowing as he saw the camera and wondered what the Highlander was up to.

"Missed you," Duncan said honestly with a small rueful smile for his own pathetic happiness, and there it was suddenly - that beautiful, perfect smile.

Duncan dropped the camera on the counter and swiftly closed the distance still remaining between them, wrapping his arms around his lover and leaning in for a warm, sweet kiss.

Photographic film was a poor substitute for the real thing and he'd already captured that, so what did he need souvenirs for.


End file.
